


Exsolvi

by Hot Jones Investments (Finlaena)



Category: Warframe
Genre: Alien Biology, Body Exploration, Gen, In Media Res, Light Bondage, Male Solo, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:07:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29115744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Finlaena/pseuds/Hot%20Jones%20Investments
Summary: Father learns to let go.
Kudos: 9





	Exsolvi

His lower body tingled. Father looked down. Where would’ve been… _certain dangly parts_ , was a slit. A crimson-colored, throbbing, swollen slit that was leaking a translucent lime green liquid and little fronds on the inside of the bulb brushing against his hips at random intervals. He knew what was lurking beneath and cursed under his breath that he couldn’t reach down to dig in there and yank out the sheathe himself.

With back arched and arm draped over his face, held in place by a slimy Infested tendril, Father bit down on his lip. If only he had his other hand, he would’ve already rubbed a quick one out and be done with it, just like in the days before it all went to hell. 

Alas, all he could do was surrender to the urges his Infestation-riddled body desired, even if it was to lay there helpless on the precipice of… some sort of bodily pleasure that he couldn’t control. Was it _his_ body wanting this or was it the _parasitic entity that was consuming him_ that wanted it? Was it _both_ of them?

Whimpering, Father tugged his arm forward a second time. This time, he met minimal resistance until the tendril let go. He rested long fingers on what used to be his breast, rapping them against the hardened skin -if it could be called that- as he gazed at the swollen slit. Sure, now that he was “free” he _could_ theoretically get it done. However, he was beginning to enjoy being pleasured by someone else (as he regarded the Infestation as its own entity in his head) for a change. Maybe the Infested _wanted_ to do him a favor by keeping him restrained initially and make him let go of control.

Father had to bitterly laugh. As unfortunate as this predicament was, it also was marginally a step up from his sexless marriage to his wife. She only laid with him twice throughout their turbulent union for the sole purpose to produce offspring to continue Albrecht Entrati’s bloodline. She had made it clear early on that, in no uncertain terms, if he wanted to “engage in coitus for recreational purposes” he would have to satisfy himself with himself. 

So, he became intimately familiar with his own body. Probably more than a normal Orokin should. The orokin knew the spots on his person that made his toes curl, belly well up with that wonderful fire, and spine tingle from neck to tailbone. When Mother cut him for his perceived insolence with that blasted Seriglass shard she clutched so tightly, Father couldn’t bear to look at -or touch- himself anymore. And now, with his entire person mutilated and mutated into a grotesque perversion of an Orokin in comparison to that of his family, he was no longer intimately familiar with his body. He didn’t _want_ to be for centuries. The Infestation somehow _wanted_ to be. 

Was it drawing from what remained of his memories, or was it mapping his body out of curiosity of the form it cohabited? Father didn’t know or really care to. That was far above the paygrade of a former Railjack jockey and Weaponsmith to figure out. 

“Y’know,” he mumbled under shallow breaths to no one in particular. “I had a really good personal massager when I was younger.” Father snickered at the words ‘personal massager’. “Set it to a low vibe, stick it between my legs and under the junk, right by the spot… _bang_.” He bit his middle finger. “Damn, that _always_ did the trick after a long day.” Father’s hewn fingers slid down his elongated torso, dipping into various curves and cracks along the way. “Then _she_ found it and threw it out. Jokes on her, I found it and hid it somewhere real safe.” A sigh rumbled in his throat. “Or I guess the joke is on me, I forgot where I put it. Figures.”

His hand hovered over the slit, which was ready to burst like one of the Cambion Drift pustules. A wispy flange brushed across the surface. Father keened, gripping where his belly was (still is?) and muttering expletives under shaky breaths. As if the parasites knew what reaction they would get, they multiplied by three and ghosted themselves over and over the bulge. Each time, Father hissed and moaned. 

That was _it_. Gulping for air and trying to upright himself, Father split his index and middle fingers and massaged the sides of the spot. It was not unlike the times he would be in the showers of the Dry Docks and having some ‘alone time’ in the baths; upper body pointed towards the floor, his left arm propping himself up as his elongated right hand teased his hole and tickled his taint under the running showerhead. An oddly specific memory, to be sure, but he wasn’t going to deny himself the pleasure from remembering it.

His strokes were gentle, but with enough pressure for fluid to squirt out. Father laughed, why for, he did not know. He applied a smidge more pressure. An even larger amount spilled out. Gritting his teeth, he pressed down a third time, this time with a harder touch; letting out a yowl as he felt something pop out like an Ostron-made jack-in-the-box toy. Nodules and filaments brushed across the slit and belly and within seconds, a long, pulsating, and slime-coated cock emerged, bobbing in the air for several seconds. 

It was the first time Father had really seen it. He had been at the mercy of the Infestation inside him wanting physical pleasures in the past, but he had been continually denied _this_ , even with all of his futile efforts to get there in this hideous body of his. 

Father’s jaw slacked. His hand cupped around the base of the shaft. How it throbbed in near perfect synch with the beating of his heart. The glowing growths near the head, which itself was pointed in a most curious manner. With hand trembling, Father attempted to give it a squeeze. Without warning, a tendril pulled his hand back up level with his collarbone, holding it in place, and a couple more sprung up and began to gently fondle it instead.

This time, he wouldn’t try to fight it.


End file.
